A Dash of Cinnamon
by muckfuffins
Summary: AU: Emma discovers a small, privately-run coffee shop in Storybrooke — in the end, it's no longer about the cinnamon sprinkles or the mochas, but about a particular one-handed barista, and a boy with a storybook.
1. You seemed the type

The bell jingled as Emma swung the door open, and she was immediately greeted with the sweet, savoury aroma of coffee. She had been searching for a specialty coffee shop in Storybrooke, and Ruby had recommended The Bean with a waggle of her eyebrow – a humble café near the edge of town that Emma hadn't discovered earlier, much to her regret.

The warm light in the dim shop was welcoming, and the merry chatter in the room created an atmosphere that Emma sought after a long afternoon at work. She brushed the rain from her curls and studied the brown leather chairs, the small marble tables, and the line of snacks along the bar. She crossed to the glass case and peered through – brownies, oat bars, yogurt, sandwiches, and pastries – any snack that Emma might have craved.

Her attention was brought back by a smooth, icy voice that called out to her from the other side of the counter: "Good afternoon, sheriff."

Emma stood herself upright. Staring back at her was a black-haired barista with blue eyes as cool as his accented voice was. His lips twitched into his smirk under the dark stubble of his jaw, and he was – Emma had to admit – _unfairly handsome_. He had a dishtowel slung over his shoulder, and he wore a brown apron with a bean etched across the chest over a black collared shirt.

"Fancy seeing you here," he carried on, and Emma caught herself watching him warily.

Emma's hand wandered to the badge at her hip, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry," she apologized with an acknowledging nod, "but do I know you?" _Doubtful_ –she would remember a face like that.

He laughed breathlessly. "I reckon not," he responded cheerfully, and he moved himself over to the registers – Emma followed not close behind. "You _are_ the sheriff, though – aren't you?" He motioned a gloved hand to her badge nestled at her belt.

Emma bent over the counter and read his nametag – _James_ was his name – _suitable_. She pricked an brow at him and cocked her head to one side, unable to push back the grin that cracked through her lips. "Just get on with it; I gotta get back to work."

"So soon?" James protested. "I'm not the one that needs to make the order, love. _You _have yet to tell me what you want, but I may wager a few guesses." There was a certain vivacity exuding off of him that intrigued Emma, and she could only smile wider.

"Medium mocha, please."

A thick brow lifted on his forehead and Emma couldn't tell if it was surprise or fascination, but the glint in his eye spoke louder than the pitch of his voice. "Just a medium mocha?"

Emma nodded slowly and surely. "Yes?"

James locked his eyes on her as he traipsed to the espresso machines – Emma stiffened uncomfortably against the tightening in her stomach, allowing the redness to crawl its way up her neck to settle in her cheeks. His deep blue eyes reminded Emma of the ocean – the days she would walk along the Manhattan harbor alone, gazing out into the deep blue waves as they danced against the wind. She could hear the machine going, its loud hissing noise echoing. She watched him focused on his work – he seemed a natural – his jaw clenching as he brought the tin of milk up to the steamer, and she could see it turn into a delicious froth. There was more clinking and clanking behind the counter before James finally returned with her drink. He placed the paper cup on the counter in front of her and, much to her amazement, on top of the whipped cream – _cinnamon_. Emma's mouth fell open. "Cinnamon?" she sputtered, plucking it from the counter.

"You seemed the type," he assumed with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

Emma snorted.

James threw the towel onto the counter and heaved a deep, troubled sigh. "Bloody hell, you didn't want any." The frustration rang in his voice clear as day; Emma shook her head fervently and beckoned him back.

"No, no!" she cried out, and she flattened her palms on the counter apprehensively. "It's just that not many people can guess that I like cinnamon. I'm impressed." The hotness in her cheeks grew warmer.

It wasn't much longer before the cocky smile was back. "I take pride in my work."

"Confident, alright – I'll give you that." Emma brought the warm cup to her lips and sipped delicately. The comfort and sweetness of the drink was nothing like Emma had had before – this was quite possibly the _best_ mocha – but she kept those thoughts to herself. She smiled against the chocolate taste lingering on her tongue before licking the foam off of her lips.

He winked at her, his smirk turning coy. James pressed some buttons on the register screen in front of him, and with a boisterous ding, it popped open. "It's on the house, lass," he declared, pushing it shut.

"Are we really going to do this?" she asked, ignoring the smugness in his brow and the curl of his mouth. There seemed to be a _thing_ with stubbled men buying her drinks – none of them ended well. Emma hitched her breath and held out a five dollar bill insistently, shoving it in his direction.

"Your attempts are futile, love. If you've never _heard_ the phrase–"

"I _know_ what it means," Emma scoffed, interrupting him. She gave the bill one last nudge at his chest. "I'm the sheriff, so what I say goes."

James gave her hand a gentle push and rested it on the counter, patting it. "You may be the sheriff, but your jurisdictions need not apply in my shop," he laughed. "When you are in my shop, you are bound by my rules."

_Oh_.

Emma removed her hand from under his, and she took note of the black glove slipped over his fingers. "What's with the glove?"

There was a resounding silence that came over them; James retracted his hand and shoved it into the pocket of his apron. His gaze fell to his feet, his other fingers fidgeting among themselves. Emma leaned forward – she propped herself on her elbows and wrapped her hands around the warmth of her drink.

"An accident long ago," he divulged, and Emma immediately pulled back. "I lost my hand." His face was long and pensive – the creases of his brow darkened in the shadows of the dim café.

"Oh…" Emma uttered. "I'm sorry for asking…" From the looks of it, Emma hadn't imagined he'd lost his hand – it _looked_ real under the glove, but that was as far as she saw.

"Not to worry – I barely remember what happened." His frown deepened. "Now that you mention it."

Everything about this felt familiar to her – memories lost, _'been here as long as I can remember_'s – Emma's eyes wandered down to her mocha and she swirled it, her heart drumming louder in her ears. "What happened?" she queried as carefully as she could. The last time all of this had occurred – Emma remembered – was with Graham. She shook the recollections out as fast as they'd come. She never wanted to think back to it since and now wasn't the time.

Another long quiet drifted, and Emma could see his attempts to recall his own memories in the wrinkles that formed on his face, and the pursing of his lips. When he finally glanced up at her, Emma broke her stare and distracted herself with a plastic cup lid, and she popped it on. "I don't know?" he whispered.

Emma allowed herself another quick sip of her drink. She licked the taste of coffee off of her lips and ignored the awkward twisting in her stomach. The situation and the lull were not helping – the only sounds that could be heard were the buzzing of the patrons and the rain slamming harder against the windows, but they were all just a hum.

James subdued her raptness with a content laugh. "Perhaps this is something to do with that lad of yours," he said, and Emma's head snapped in his direction.

Shocked, she coughed on the drink that lodged in her throat. "You know Henry?"

"Course I do," James exclaimed, and his demeanor changed swiftly – back to when she first walked in and was greeted at the pastry display. "The mayor's boy – him and that storybook."

Emma choked again. "How do you-?"

"Word gets around here quickly, lass," he interrupted, intuitive of where the conversation was going. "Not like the whole town doesn't know you're his mum."

_Who are you_? Emma's jaw fell open, but all that came out was a sputter of nothing. She immediately detected her persistent stare and she shook it off. She rolled up the sleeve of her jacket to check the time – _no watch_. "Well, I uh – I gotta head back to work." Emma clutched her cup and nodded at James in gratitude before she spun on her heel and stalked away, her pace quickening as she approached the door.

"Hope to see you again, love!" James called out after her as she swung the door open, the little bell jingling again. Emma felt the wetness on her face – the rain was coming down harder now – and she hastened to a jog to her car, her heart beating loudly in her ears.

* * *

The clock ticked eight o'clock as she pulled to a stop in front of Regina's house. She could see that the lights were off – Emma pulled the walky-talky from the glove compartment and hit the side button, speaking into the static quietly. "Hey kid," she whispered. "Come down to the car, and bring your book. It's about Operation Cobra."

It wasn't long before Henry bound out in his pyjamas and a coat, his book clutched protectively under his arm. The door of her bug creaked open and he shut it with a careful slam, settling himself into the passenger seat. "What's up, Emma?" he asked, laying the book across his lap.

Emma put her foot on the gas and drove – Regina spotting them through a window would not bode well. "Do you know of a place called The Bean?" she asked, trying to keep the eagerness at a minimum. She took a left turn into the next block, shrouded in trees.

_Why am I even doing this? The curse isn't real…_

Henry nodded vigorously. "Of course I do! I love that place!" he answered with excitement. He tapped his book. "He's not in here, if that's what you're wondering." There was a hint of a taunt, like he knew what she was thinking – what she had come for.

"I – that's – I didn't say anything!" The car stopped on a quiet street several blocks away from the house – the light from the lamps illuminated the devious grin that constructed itself on Henry's face, and he shrugged.

"I know," he put bluntly. His smirk never faded and, frustrated, Emma dropped her hands from the wheel and set the car into park. "I know who you're talking about, though. There's only one person you _could_ be talking about."

Emma unfastened her seatbelt and twisted round in her seat to face Henry, glowering – she took a much more serious tone this time. "Alright kid. Cut to the chase – who is he?"

Henry's chuckle made Emma uneasy. "You're talking about James, right? The owner of the coffee shop." Emma made to respond, but Henry didn't wait for the words to form. "Hook."

She cocked a brow in disbelief. "As in _Captain Hook_?" The Captain Hook she remembered was far too different for her to take this earnestly – _as if the curse made any sense_? Tacky red coat, hilariously cliché moustache, long black locks and an irrational fear of crocodiles – far from the arrogant, bristly, unfairly handsome barista she'd met earlier that night. The only parallel between the two that Emma spotted was the missing hand, and that could only be a coincidence – if memory served her correctly, he was most definitely _not_ wearing a hook. That, Emma would remember.

"Well, his real name is Killian," Henry frowned. "I think."

"Captain Hook…" Emma repeated slowly. Perhaps saying it again would, to a degree, make it realistic; so far, the plan failed. "As in Peter Pan?"

Henry tilted his head, perplexed.

"Nevermind," she snapped. "So what makes you say that he's Captain Hook, of all characters?"

Henry considered his answer for a moment. "Well, he _is_ missing a hand," he reported curtly, as if this was an observation he expected Emma to have made herself. "He also talks like a pirate." The amusement returned to Henry's lips and Emma shuffled awkwardly in her seat again. "He was calling you 'lass' and 'love', wasn't he?" Henry paused thoughtfully. "He's a really important character to everyone's stories."

Emma's silence was the only response Henry seemed to need. She could feel her heart fluttering in her chest and she breathed deeply to calm it. If the curse was _real_, her roommate would be her mother – and as much as Emma had wanted that to be true, to finally have all of her answers, she couldn't bring herself to believe. It wasn't real. The one-handed barista could not be Captain Hook, and Mary Margaret was not Snow White. She was not some lost princess in a storybook – this was real life, she was a real person. Emma sighed and switched the car's gear. "Let's get you back home before your mom finds out you've disappeared."

Down the blocks they went, Emma trying her best to keep her thoughts grounded; to keep them rooted in reality. They were noiseless and still most the way back until Henry finally spoke up again, startling her. "Do you like pirates?"

Emma cast him a sideways glance. "Pirates steal," she testified. "They also drink a lot. Of course I don't – they're sleazy."

Henry countered with a long 'hmmmm' as the car finally pulled up in front of the house again. "I don't think that's how you really feel, or else you wouldn't have asked to talk, but alright." He unbuckled himself and threw the door open, leaving Emma speechless. "Whatever you say, Emma." The door slammed loudly and she kept her eyes on him as he sprinted to the patio, sneaking his way back into the house. When he was out of her sight, Emma stepped on the gas and drove off into the rainy darkness.

_No way in hell_.

* * *

It was raining again the night Emma made the spontaneous decision to revisit the café. The same warmth hit her as she opened the door, but this time, she never made for the counter. Instead, Emma took a seat near the door in a brown leather armchair facing the window. She gently placed her keys on the table set up in front of her and glimpsed over her shoulder, catching him at the side of her eye – he hadn't taken notice, and if he did, he pretended not to.

She watched the drops ripple against the sidewalk and the roof of her car as it fell, and there was the thrumming of the storm against the building – the sound of thunder could be heard vaguely in the distance.

Emma had to summon the right words before she went up there – the fact that all she saw when she looked up at him was Captain Hook – _ridiculous_. Her thumbs twiddled together anxiously as she listened, waited. This was stupid. There was no reason to feel as nervous as she did; he's a barista… that was it. Not a pirate, not a captain, not a fairy-tale character.

As Emma crept to her feet, she was stopped by the smell of cologne with a hint of espresso. She paused with her fingers curled on the arms of the chair, the leather slipping between her fingers – much like her words. Reluctant, she took her seat again.

"What are you doing here?" he had asked. James moved around her seat and sat down in the chair beside her, the leather squeaking under him. He glanced at the silver watch around his wrist. "It's almost ten – caffeine round this hour seems a bit out of character for the sheriff, don't you think?" He wore his perfect smirk, and Emma saw his jaw tightening as he eyed her carefully.

"I wanted to pay you back for that mocha the other night," Emma answered sharply. She reached into her jacket pocket and handed a five dollar bill his way – he ignored it. "You don't owe me anything, so I wanted to make sure I compensated." She could feel a heat sneaking its way up from her stomach and the sides of her neck to her face as she pushed the money further at him.

He nudged the bill back at her, laughing peacefully. The smile he gave her was something warm, genuine and interested – it made Emma's heart jump. "How about this," he started; disregarding that she was still holding the folded money in his direction. "As compensation, you let me buy you a drink."

Emma dropped her arm and groaned, her head rolling back against the chair in frustration. "That's not – I'm not taking another drink on the house, alright?" _What the hell_. The last thing Emma wanted was to take advantage of a free drink when she came in. "I didn't come here to get another free coffee."

James leaned away, looking affronted. "I never once said anything about coffee, lass. You're quick to conclude." James stood up from the chair and held out a ringed hand to her – the rings glistened beautifully in the warm light of the café, and for a moment, all Emma could hear was her own heartbeat, and the ran showering against the window. His outstretched fingers called to her, and Emma took it – although hesitant – and his fingers curled around her hand, warm and soft. "Look, I'm about to close up shop in five, why don't you come wait up at the bar?" He didn't wait for her answer – instead, he dragged her along with him, Emma hastily making a grab for her car keys on the table.

Emma watched him serve his last customers – a couple ordering their hot chocolates for the night – before he emptied out the shop. The last of the remaining tenants vacated and then, they were alone. Emma gulped hard.

"I thought I'd never get out of here tonight," he said, and he nudged her with his hand again as he came around from the counter.

There was a sharp intake of breath as he pulled her to her feet. Hanging on his other wrist was a black umbrella that he'd conjured up from behind the bar, and he led her to the door. _Drinking with Captain Hook_… Emma contemplated playfully.

The umbrella opened with a _whoosh_ as they exited the shop, the dark and cloudy sky looming over them. A few drops of rain hit Emma's face before James swung the umbrella over their heads, shielding them from the heavy downpour. "Where are we going?" she asked over the rainfall while he locked the door behind them.

James pointed his gloved hand across the street to a familiar, dreary-looking pub. Above the wooden door, hanging against the brick walls was a sign – The Rabbit Hole – with the face of a rabbit below, his black circular eyes watching the street. She had passed this place before, but had never been inside. There was a first for everything, she supposed – and who else with than _Captain Hook_.

Emma was going to need a lot of whiskey for this.


	2. chocolat chaud

The Rabbit Hole was a dreary looking building, and a little too loud for Emma's tastes. She squinted her eyes shut and blinked hard to bring her vision back into focus against the faint yellow light in the room, and she saw high wooden tables set up all around with matching bar stools, and a tiny tea candle serving as a simple centerpiece. Tonight was as crowded as any, Emma presumed – especially for a Thursday night. She never imagined there would be many out and about on an evening like this; Storybrooke never gave her that impression. She felt almost a little too underdressed, by the Rabbit Hole's standards – women in dresses or short skirts, heels that could take someone's eyes out and shirts with dipping necklines; and then there was Emma: blue jeans, red leather jacket, and her tall boots. A woman like Ruby was much more suitable for a pub like this – someone who could easily pull off the look many of the women in the vicinity were socializing in tonight.

As they crossed the room to a vacant table, Emma could feel the eyes of patrons following them – the sheriff on a date with the handsome owner of the coffee shop? _No, this was not a date_. Several girls Emma had never seen before were stopping James and greeting him, asking him how the shop was, their fingers grazing lightly over his arms and shoulders – _whatever_. He slid a seat out from under the table for Emma and motioned for her to sit.

"How gentlemanly of you," she joked, settling into the surprisingly uncomfortable wooden seat. She inched forward closer to the table, the feet of the stool scraping noisily against the floor, turning several annoyed sideways glances in their direction. Emma pushed the curls that had fallen in front of her ear and slid her jacket off – it was unusually warm in the pub, and all of the heat rushed to Emma's cheeks.

James sat across from her and leaned in close, peering around at all of the eyes watching them. "I'm always a gentleman." From his jacket pocket he pulled out a folded bill and held it tight between his fingers, waving it pointedly in front of Emma's face. "Anything in particular that you enjoy for a drink, sheriff?"

Emma raised a brow and her lips broke into a grin. "You trying to turn this into a date?" She plucked the bill from his hand and slid it across the table at him, and it landed in front of his chest. "I can buy a drink for myself, thank you." Emma had to raise her voice to talk over the blaring music, hardly able to hear herself. Their faces were close and Emma could smell the espresso on him, and she immediately drew away.

"What ever happened to the compensation we discussed not long ago?" James said with a breath of laughter, taking the money back into his grasp again. He twirled the paper through his fingers absentmindedly while watching Emma with an inquiring gaze. "You agreed when you made the decision to wait for me to close my shop."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. Emma positioned her hands on the table and stretched out her palms, pushing herself off of her chair and she made her way to the bar, leaving James behind. She could almost see his open-mouthed gasp from behind her as she navigated through the tables, more eyes landing on her. When Emma reached the bartender, she curved over the counter and spoke loudly in his ear. "One whiskey, on the rocks; same for the rum," she shouted. Emma watched as the bartender craftily poured their drinks into small glasses, reminding her of how skillfully James worked his coffee. The bartender slid the drinks across the counter to her, and Emma returned to him money from her own pocket, thanking him before venturing back to the table.

"That was rather bold, wouldn't you say?" James remarked as Emma plopped herself back down in the chair.

Emma slammed the glass down – almost with too much force – in front of his smug face and smirked. "Thanks for the coffee." It took all of Emma's resolve not to break their stares as James bit down on his bottom lip, amused.

He picked up his glass and swirled it under his nose, sniffing. "Rum…" James' smile grew wider. "How'd you figure?"

There was a pause as they both sipped their drinks, the bass of the music roaring loudly in Emma's ears. "How'd you figure I'd like cinnamon in my mocha?" she asked, grinning over the rim of her glass. "Don't pirates drink rum?"

James shrugged and watched his beverage whirl around at the bottom of his glass, the ice clinking softly. "Don't saviours like cinnamon?"

"You seemed the type," Emma told him playfully, but her smile faded as James' did, his own replaced with a confused frown.

He sat back in his seat, eyes unmoving from Emma's. "You came out because of that boy and his storybook, didn't you?"

Emma was taken-aback by his dramatic turn in character and she let her glass down slowly, careful of what she was about to say. "What? What makes you say that?"

"That's why you agreed to come with me." James was peering at her through his long dark lashes, and Emma spotted a glimmer of concern in his deep blue eyes. His voice broke with disappointment – Emma was disappointed in herself, really. After all of the not believing or not wanting to believe, after everything August had told her and put her through – the second guessing and the responsibilities – Emma had wanted no more to do with it now than she had in the past. So why, after all of it, was she still here? _Why_ was she so drawn to this stranger she'd just met, who her own son believes to be the cursed Captain Hook? What had happened to the doubts she had clung onto for so long, afraid that all of it might be true?

James' voice was stern and the coldness sent shivers up and down Emma's spine when he spoke up, low over the music. "If you didn't want to come for the drink, why not just _say so_?" His brows wrinkled together in sadness. "Why do you need ulterior motives to remove your sheriff's badge for once and let go?"

"I took up the offer because _you offered_," Emma snapped, taking on the same hardness in her voice. "I'm not going to lie and say that none of this had anything to do with the curse, but I figured that it's my duty as the sheriff to get to know everyone in this town." For someone who could proudly say that she could sense fiction when she heard it, sometimes she doubted even her own ability to lie.

"Do you know them?" James asked sharply, noting the couples that were seated across from them, and Emma glanced over her shoulder to check.

"Well, no…"

"Best you be getting to work then, sheriff."

Emma closed her eyes and inhaled a deep sigh, sipping her whiskey again – this time with a far greater gulp. He was finally getting under her skin, and she would need another glass or two if they were going to go on much longer, but the jingling of her car keys on the table as she set her drink down indicated to her that perhaps it would be best not to. She felt the burn rush down her throat and the warmth spread through her chest. "What _do_ you know about the curse?" Emma avoided his statement entirely, not having an effective quip to throw back at him.

For a while, there was no response from James. Instead, he stared tacitly at the liquid at the bottom of his cup, perhaps contemplating an answer. Emma caught herself eyeing him more than once, so she resorted to people-watching instead – she watched a couple whispering in one another's ears before taking their belongings and leaving the pub. The silence was much louder than any deafening music or resonant voices, and Emma shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"What I do know is that this is most definitely not the place to discuss such matters, love," he said finally.

The sudden resolution surprised Emma. People could barely hear them – hell, Emma could barely hear herself – so she didn't think twice about the fear of being overheard. "Oh," she sputtered, and sipped her drink to kill the blossoming awkwardness. "It's alright, I was just curious."

James shook his head and made a humming noise through his tightly pursed lips. "No, clearly this is an important matter to you." He moved in closer over the table and Emma did the same. "All of this is important to you because _you_ are the sheriff now, not Graham." As if James had realized what he'd just said, his eyes turned down to the table. "Good lad, he was."

There was a sudden pang of sadness in Emma's chest as she remembered Graham – his light brown curls, his Irish lilt and his beautiful blue eyes. The last thing Emma recalled was his smile before he had fallen to the ground, his body lifeless. Everything was gone in a flash and Emma still, to this day, regretted never believing in him. She had let him in, and just like everyone else in Emma's life, he left. No warning, no chance for goodbyes – just gone. Looking back up at James, she saw _something_ in him – whether it was a second chance to do something for someone or a reminder of a man she had taken her walls down for, she didn't know – and Emma blinked back the tears. "You know what, let's just forget we even talked about any of this."

James could read her; she could see it on his face. "Perhaps it would be _prudent_ to discuss things in a more private manner," he said again, tilting his head. "If you'd really like to discuss your curiosities about this… _curse_… then I would be more than happy to oblige, you know that." He motioned to Emma's finished drink and she stared at him, a tear almost falling down her cheek. "I am simply trying to tell you, sheriff, that maybe this isn't the most prime place to talk of curses and alternate or lives past?"

Emma looked at the watch on her wrist – almost eleven o'clock. "Why even bother, then?"

_He had a point, though_, Emma thought. They hadn't been there for long, but she didn't raise any objections to leaving. It was now a matter of where they would be headed. Emma swung her coat over her arms and shoulders and followed James out.

"I was under the impression that I would be buying you the drink, love," he said sternly. The pub door swung shut behind them, muffling the music that Emma had very quickly grown tired of. The rain was still coming down, ripples in the puddles all along the street reflecting the light from the streetlamps.

Emma clutched her jacket closer and zipped it up to shield herself from the cold of the mists blowing up from the winds. James' umbrella opened with a mighty _swoosh_ as he held it over them, and Emma smiled to herself as they stepped off the curb. "If you paid for my drink, that would make it a date," she laughed.

James grinned back. "Does it never occur to you that maybe there is a man who exists out there who perhaps _wants_ to make it a date?"

"Where are we going?" Emma asked, disregarding his previous statement, but that didn't stop the redness surfacing on her cheeks.

"I think it may be a tad late now. If you would like to talk about it some other night, come to my shop round ten."

He walked Emma to her car and she paused, her key in the door. It's okay, really." Emma had never felt so frightened before; scared that if James discovered anything about the curse, or if someone discovered his awareness of Henry's theories, he would meet the same fate Graham had, and she was not going to let it happen again. "I'll see you around." Emma unlocked the door and stepped into her yellow bug, giving James one last glance before slamming it shut.

"Aye," she heard him utter through the pattering of the rain, and Emma turned the key in the ignition.

xxxxx

It had been a couple of days in between since Emma had last given James and his coffee shop a visit, and Emma began to wonder what the twisting in her stomach meant when she reminded herself of it. It's not like he _meant_ anything to her, except for his delicious mochas – better than Granny's even. She thought that it was about time she paid Henry another visit instead, and it was that afternoon when school had ended that she parked her yellow bug across the street.

He managed to spot her as he roamed outside, and the bright smile that broke out on his face made Emma grin. She swung the passenger door open for him as he crossed behind the car. "What are you doing here?" he said, pleasantly surprised to see her.

As Henry pulled the door shut, Emma put the car into gear and drove off. "What, I'm not allowed to come pick you up after school now?" she joked, although it could be that it's true. Regina had attempted to avert their interactions before, so it wouldn't shock her. "It's not like you have anywhere you need to be right now, is there?"

After some consideration, Henry shook his head.

"Good. Then you're down for some of Granny's hot chocolate?"

"Always am!"

It was Ruby who greeted them from the counter as they entered the diner, the bell jingling as the door opened. She gave Ruby a quick nod of acknowledgment as they chose their seats in a booth, Henry settling across from her comfortably. Ruby didn't need telling what they had come for – Emma and Henry had been there enough by now for her to know immediately. She brought them both their hot cocoas and cinnamon sprinkles atop a mountain of whipped cream. Emma smiled down at hers; reminiscing of the first time James had slid her cup across to her… how he had simply _known_… no, that's enough, Emma.

Henry sipped delicately at his hot chocolate, the cream forming a white moustache of froth over his mouth. "So why the sudden urge to come for hot chocolate?" he asked, and he folded his arms across the table. The penetrating stare Henry was giving her made Emma shift uneasily and the leather squeaked beneath her. "You went to see James again, didn't you?"

At once, Emma's eye contact broke with his and she gripped her cup tight between both of her hands, the warmth diffusing through her cold fingers. "What? _No!_" She cleared her throat, avoiding Henry's accusatory observation – he knew she was lying – as she fiddled with the handle of her porcelain cup. "Okay, maybe. I just wanted to ask him a few questions. I'm the sheriff, that's my job, Henry."

"Your job to ask questions about what?" This kid was reminding Emma more and more of herself – vigilant and excellent at pulling information from others – perhaps she _did_ spend too much time with him. "You probably didn't have much of a reason to go back there…" He crooked over the table, a smug '_hmmm_' escaping from behind his closed lips. "Unless you really _do_ believe in the curse, and that he is Captain Hook?"

"I never said anything like that," Emma protested. "I just feel like I need to get to know as many people in this town as possible."

"But you don't know everyone in this town, nor can you, _really_," Henry snorted.

"Suspicious people, then."

"You think James is suspicious, or good-looking?"

The pair scowled at one another, her glower a meager attempt to wipe the satisfaction from Henry's face, but he didn't yield. The sides of his lips twitched and Emma swallowed, annoyed. "Henry, I don't think _any_ of those things." She licked the whipped cream and cinnamon from her lips, her next excuse forming in her head. "His coffee is really good, and we got to talking, and _someone_ has spoken with him before about this curse."

Henry glanced down at his drink and his fingers fidgeted around it innocently. "Well, he's cool, and he listened and asked questions," he grumbled with a shrug.

"I know, Henry. This is supposed to be a secret, remember?" she cautioned, the desperation in her voice slipping out. If Regina unearthed their plans and constant pursuit of this 'curse', she would be on them like a hungry lion on its dinner, and Emma frowned at that prospect. "That's why we call it Operation Cobra, right? To keep it a secret."

Henry ruminated, his head clearly running with ideas. His smirk expanded from ear to ear, and Emma sat back, waiting patiently for the revelation. "Why don't we make James a part of Operation Cobra? Like another operative?"

That was the last thing Emma expected from him. Her jaw fell open and she was silent, the only sound managing its way out was a single stunned gasp.

Henry nodded to himself and took a pleased drink of his hot cocoa. "Yes, that's brilliant! We could always use more help, don't you think?"

The complete disregard for Emma's own opinion unsettled her, and she drummed her fingers on the leather seat. This was _just_ what Emma needed – more time spent with James, and him being an influence on Henry. Not that he was a bad person, but the thought of those meetings made Emma's head hurt. "Look, I know you're very excited about the idea of bringing James on board…" She stopped to let Henry snicker, Emma only just realizing the unintentional pun she'd made. "I just think that it's better if we keep it between the two of us. How do we know we can trust him?"

Henry didn't hesitate. "Because he _is _Captain Hook, he will do anything if it benefits his cause."

"What _is_ Captain Hook's cause?" Emma asked, confused.

Suddenly, the pride that was once on Henry's face vanished only to be replaced by a sad frown, and he puckered his lips together as if to suspend the secret from escaping them; he breathed in deep and exhaled. "Well, he doesn't remember…" he began slowly, but he quickly cut himself off.

Emma's eyes narrowed dubiously and she spun the cup on the table. She had essentially forgotten about her drink until now, but the way Henry stirred worried her. "Remember what?"

"What if you just read the book and found out yourself?" Henry avoided answering her entirely, and he looked at her through his long lashes. Emma responded with a slow shake of her head.

"No, you're going to tell me what it is he doesn't remember."

"He wants revenge on Rumplestiltskin – Mr. Gold." Henry swiveled in the seat to ensure that no one was within earshot, but not once did he maintain his eye contact with Emma, perhaps afraid of her reaction to the news. "He wants to kill Rumplestiltskin."

She mulled this information over long and hard, not being able to fully understand what Henry had just divulged. As if the entire idea couldn't grow any more ridiculous, now the flirty, handsome barista who ran a small coffee shop at the edge of town sought revenge on Rumplestilt – Mr. Gold? "So how would bringing James onto Operation Cobra benefit _us_? Or even him, if what you say is true."

"I don't know," Henry admitted.

_For real…?_

"Maybe we can help him – you can throw him off course!" he shouted aloud, and several heads turned to them. Emma hissed an aggressive '_shhh_', his sudden excitement frightening those around them, Emma included. "I mean, maybe you can save him; teach him that revenge is not going to get him anywhere."

"He doesn't need _saving_, Henry," she sighed violently. "He doesn't remember anything." Her fingers were tracing small circles on the table – she couldn't believe she was about to say it. "But if I did do it… Do you think that it would stop him from killing Gold? That it would turn him away from this revenge and he could be happy in other, less… _dangerous_ ways?"

Henry was nodding energetically, and Emma couldn't help but smile. _She_ remembered why she was doing this – it was what Henry wanted. It wasn't about Emma's beliefs, or her motivations, but what Henry was passionate about. Emma believing in Henry, and him knowing that she did was important. Emma couldn't bear to conjure ideas of how many years he'd lived stressing over people never having faith in him. It was time for Emma to be the mom she couldn't be for ten years.

"Well, how about I go talk to him and see what he thinks, and then I'll tell you what he said?" Emma downed her hot chocolate in several sips, the last few gulps with that extra sweetness. It seemed an appropriate conclusion to their conversation, and Henry plucked his backpack from the seat and slid to his feet.

"I like that idea!" he said with a burst of energy.

While Henry ran ahead to the car, Emma brought a ten dollar bill to the counter to Ruby, who, for reasons unknown to Emma, was wearing a large smile on her red lips. "What?" she asked as she slipped the money across and Ruby replied with a giggle.

"I hear someone had a date with James the other night," Ruby teased.

"It wasn't a date," Emma said flatly. "We just talked over a drink."

Ruby swayed side to side on her heels while she completed their transaction, the register dinging as the drawer slid open. "That's not what I heard."

Had Emma drunk more glasses of whiskey than she remembered? Did more happen that night that she was ignorant to? As they said, ignorance is bliss, and it rang very true in this case. "Well, whatever you heard isn't true. Nothing happened between us, and nothing ever will."

Ruby hummed at Emma, much like Henry had earlier, as she stomped off, thanking Ruby as she swung the diner door open. Whoever had been spreading lies may be meeting her fist soon. She hopped into her yellow bug where Henry was waiting without much else to say – everything had already been discussed. Instead, they drove in almost complete silence, Henry seemingly satisfied with himself.

"See you around, kid," Emma said as they pulled up to the mayor's house.

"Don't forget to tell me how it goes!" Henry slammed the door shut and ran up the front sidewalk to the porch – as always, leaving Emma with no room for a retort. She laughed to herself, his mannerisms reminding Emma of her again, and she drove off.

xxxxx

It wasn't until two nights later when Emma pulled to a halt in front of The Bean. The clock on her car stereo switched to ten o'clock when she turned her car off, just like James had instructed. She spotted him through the window working at the counter, helping the remainder of his customers of the night before he could close up. Emma waited until they were gone before she climbed out of her car and stepped inside. The bell on the door caught his attention and he spun around, happy to discover her there. There was something different about him tonight – she noticed that his beard was gone, his jaw clean-shaven and smooth, glistening under the dim light as sweat traced its way down the sides of his face. She was surprised at how good he looked, but Emma kind of missed it.

_Not that it mattered_.

They smiled at one another as she entered. "Good evening, stranger," he said merrily, tossing a dish towel over his broad shoulders. "Do me a favour and lock the door, will you, love?"

Emma turned the lock and it clicked loudly against the calmness of the shop. The music had been turned down, the sounds of a piano playing softly in the background as Emma navigated her way through the setup. She stopped and stood in the middle of the room, her hands resting awkwardly on her hips, waiting for James to finish his work on the other side of the counter. She watched him wipe everything down with the rag before giving it a simple toss into the sink.

He then prepared two cups of hot chocolate as Emma lingered, swaying side to side on the balls of her feet. He topped them off with whipped cream, and he certainly hadn't forgotten her love of cinnamon. James carried the cups to them, settling down at two large leather seats situated in the center of the room. "So what brought about the decision on tonight, darling?" he asked finally. "Did your boy convince you to come? Never thought I'd see you again, I was terribly disappointed." He didn't look disappointed to her – that smile said otherwise.

Emma seated herself across from him, and he crossed his arms against his knees, bending forward.

What _did_ Emma want to talk about? She hadn't thought much of it. Perhaps it was something Henry had said – or didn't say – that had brought about certain urgency to find out more about this man, and about the curse. Her mind was blanking. Maybe she did want it all to be real, and _maybe_ she wished to believe that her family was in this town, their memories locked away in the furthest depths of their consciousness. _No, this is ridiculous_. All of this was, and here Emma was – sitting in an empty coffee shop with the man her son believes to be Captain Hook.

It was spiralling out of her control.

Emma laced her fingers together uncomfortably, the palms of her hands balmy against each other, while James waited meekly, and drawing shapes on the table with the tip of his finger. "So what do you know about the curse?" she inquired at last, and James rested against his chair, sinking deep into the cushion.

James blinked several times, not saying much of anything before he brought his drink to his lips, the same foam moustache Henry wore now on James' lips. He licked it away and Emma spotted his fingers tapping nervously against the cup, his hand tightening around the handle. "The most I know is that your boy believes me to be a pirate," he began to explain. "How he managed that conclusion is far beyond my comprehension, love, but that's all I can tell you."

Emma relaxed her chin against her hands, propping herself up on one elbow against the arm of the chair. "Nothing about your story, or something that explains who you might have been pre-curse?" Why this mattered so much, Emma didn't know. All of these questions were hammering away at her head, and she hadn't the slightest clue as to how they got in there. Her lack of interest from the past was dwindling, being rekindled as an insistent and pesky curiosity.

James shook his head. "He seems to believe that my hook is hidden in Mr. Gold's pawnshop, but I didn't humour the idea and look. I tend to stay away from that man – he rubs me the wrong way."

"So you do know who you're supposed to be?"

"Well, the boy doesn't come often, but from my understanding, I'm Captain Hook; pillager and plunderer of the high seas, and feared by all of Neverland," he laughed.

"Did he ever tell you why he thought that?"

"Perhaps the biggest giveaway is my lack of a proper hand." James lifted his gloved hand and waved it at Emma, prompting her to blush, the guilt of asking showing on her face. "I've been told I also have mannerisms similar to those of a pirate." He pouted intently and sat back again. "Interesting arguments, to say the least, but I simply run a coffee shop in a small town. There isn't much more to it than that, really."

All of the things she was hearing now were what Henry had told her, but it didn't make it that much more believable. What she needed to do was to get her hands on the kid's storybook; she needed to search through the pages pertaining to 'Hook'. "He says that you… I mean, Captain Hook… are important to the stories before the curse," she cited slowly. "Did he ever talk to you about that at all?" Emma recalled Henry educating Graham on his fairy-tale counterpart not long before he passed. The huntsman, Henry had explained, with a wolf. The evil queen took his heart from him mercilessly in place of Snow White's. She quickly shook the thoughts from her head and anticipated an answer.

James ran his fingers through his hair, the dark strands falling back into place over his shining forehead. "Look, lass, I know you've taken a very sudden interest in this curse – for what reason, that's none of my concern, but I've told you as much as I know, or that your boy has told me," he put gently, his voice low and soft.

He didn't know, it seemed. "He also says…" Emma continued gingerly, unsure of her wording. _The best way is to just say it_. "That Captain Hook is out to kill Mr. Gold – Rumplestiltskin." She pressed her lips together and watched for a reaction, but his face remained straight and almost too indifferent. Emma was the sheriff, and once the safety of the townsfolk was in question, it concerned her. This was surely the reason for her pursuit.

"As far as I'm concerned," he said. "I have no plans to kill anyone in this town." He didn't take offense to the accusation – if anything, it humoured him a little, much to Emma's relief _and_ confusion. "I'm certain I'd address those affairs immediately." His eyes widened then. "Unless that's why you came here tonight – to arrest me?" A smug grin cracked his face and Emma grimaced back. _Oh, please_.

It was likely that Emma was ahead of herself; chasing the curse and the identities of these 'fairy tale characters'… All of these people were real – Emma was real, James was real, and Mary Margaret could not possibly be her mother. None of them lived in this enchanted land, and James most certainly was not a pirate. Then what kept Emma coming back to his world? She could feel the denial clouding her judgement again, and she welcomed it. "Well, Henry seems to think that if you joined us in Operation Cobra, it would help you – ugh, Captain Hook – to forget his hundred year old revenge."

James tapped a considerate finger against his chin. "Hundred year, then?" he chuckled. "I look pretty dashing to be hundreds of years old, don't you think, sheriff?"

Emma sipped at her hot chocolate, and it caught in her throat out of surprise. She swallowed past the lump that was forming, coughing down what had lodged in there. "Wow," she sputtered. "This is really good." She took another sip, and another. Without a doubt, this was one of the best hot chocolates Emma had ever had – and she'd had a lot. The amount of cinnamon was perfect in proportion to the whipped cream and frothy hot chocolate underneath – it wasn't too overpowering, but she could still taste it. Her face turned pink when she spotted the smile James gave her, and she looked away.

"Well, whatever it is you're doing, sheriff Swan, I must say, it is most certainly drawing me away from what revenge I may have been unknowingly plotting," he proclaimed, and Emma almost choked again.

The warmth in her cheeks was spreading and quickly growing hotter. It was only the drink, she told herself. It was hot in the shop and that must have been it – although the shivers creeping up her arm were unexplained. "I'm glad to hear that, Captain."

James lifted his cup, and she hers, and they clinked them together, giggling through their loud sips, the heat nestling in Emma's stomach. It had been an eternity since Emma felt like this – she could joke about the entire situation without any repercussions. No one was demanding that she take responsibility for the happiness of the entire town, or telling her that she was mad for not believing, or for that inkling in the back of her mind for wanting to believe.

"I would love to join your operation, Swan," he said after a while. "If that's what would make you and your lad happy, then I'd be more than willing to oblige."

Emma tilted her head at him. "You'd do that for Henry?"

"Aye, of course I would," he nodded. Emma spotted a redness surfacing on his skin, too. "If that's what would make you happy, love."

"I – that would make Henry really happy to know that you're on board," she asserted. "As silly as it sounds."

James held his cup up at her again. "There's nothing wrong with a little adventure in one's life."

"I suppose not," Emma said happily, and she took another large gulp with him. _A glass of whiskey would do some good right about now_.

Emma hadn't paid much attention to the time – how much longer she had stayed, she wasn't certain, but she didn't dare glance at her watch when they had finally gotten to their feet. The two of them talked for a while, mostly about Henry and his stories of the curse and his storybook. Emma took the time to explain who he believed the townsfolk to be. James was most shocked to hear about Mary Margaret, the modest school teacher, and that she was Snow White, the bandit, and Emma Swan's mother.

"Well, you do have her chin," he had commented, and Emma rubbed the palm of her hand against it, having heard that before.

As they crossed to the door, Emma looked back at James and jingled her car keys at him. "Need a ride home?" she asked across the empty café. It was a chilly night compared to others – though, it wasn't raining at least – and she didn't want to leave without an offer, after the free drinks he'd given her. _Okay, two_.

"Nah, I'll be alright, love. I don't live too far from here." James held the door for her and locked it behind them. "I live just around the corner. It's handy, living near your business." He pointed down the block. "Just get yourself home safely, alright lass?"

Emma tucked her curls behind her ear and could barely stifle that smile that forced its way onto her lips. "Yeah, you too," she said quietly, her throat dry.

The two of them remained speechless for an instant before Emma gave an awkward pat on his shoulder. "I'll let you know when the next Operation Cobra meeting is," she muttered as she unlocked her car door.

They both spun away from one another at once, Emma to her vehicle and James turned down the road. When she gave one last glance over her shoulder, all she saw was his back as he slid his hands into his pockets.

Emma was about to climb into her bug when she stopped by his familiar voice calling out to her.

"Swan!"

She whirled around toward the echo of her name, and as she did, there was a warm hand on her cold cheek, and even warmer lips on hers. He was kissing her – _he_ was kissing _her_. Emma shut her eyes and allowed her arms to drop to her sides. It was gentle, soft – everything that Emma might have imagined it would be – _not that she had imagined it_.

As fast as it had happened, James broke free, gasping for air.

"James?" Emma tried to shout, but it barely came out.

"Did you see that?"

The pit of Emma's stomach dropped and she took several steps away. This had happened before – history was repeating itself again, and Emma felt the panic rising. _Not again. No, no, no, not again_. "See what?" she spat, trying to stifle the dismay shaking in her voice. The twisting of her gut told her she knew the answer to that question, but the denial was quickly building up.

"There was a ship, water… a man dressed in crocodile skins," he explained through his heaving. He was fighting for breath as if it had all been drawn from his lungs with one short kiss.

_Not again_. "No, not again…"

"Not again what?" James pleaded, and Emma sensed the tension. He stood upright and staggered towards her, and all she could do was to distance her further. "The bloody hell is going on, Swan?"

_My walls came down_, she wanted to tell him. _My walls came down, and I let you in, and you're going to leave. Just like everyone else_. Just like Neal and Graham. Like her parents when she was found on the side of the freeway. There was a reason she kept herself so guarded, and now that they've come down, she was going to suffer again – she couldn't let it happen. Her body longed to scream the words at him, but there was nothing. She kept stepping away, her eyes wide and unfocused on James' anxious face. "You have to stay away." Emma held up an unsteady hand as if to tell him to stop. She stumbled into her car and slammed the door, locking it immediately.

"Emma, what–"

Her fingers gripped the steering wheel and the blood left them, turning her knuckles white and numb. Without a shake of hesitation, she accelerated, leaving James on the curb, his face distressed and bewildered. _I'm sorry… I'm so sorry_.

With Graham, nothing about it ended well – and it all began the same. The moment there was any possibility of solving the mysteries of this town and its people, something awful transpired, as if the curse forbade any of the townsfolk to discuss it. Everything about Operation Cobra was a bad idea, and bringing someone else into it should never have been a part of the plan. How was Emma going to break the news to Henry?

As soon as she had made it around the corner, she slammed on her brakes, the tires screeching to a halt. She set her car into park and allowed herself to let go. The tears welling up in her eyes blurred the lines on the road, and her ability to differentiate between street and sidewalk vanished. _This_ was Emma's curse – cursed to never trust, cursed to never love or be loved. Cursed to always lose the ones she could care about, and who cared for her. The sobs came full force, and the tears stained her hot cheeks as she broke down into her hands, the cries muffled as if someone could have heard her.

Emma's hands curled into tight fists and she slammed them hard against the steering wheel. She felt the pain coursing through her hand and up her arm, but she was past caring. Her fingers coiled around the wheel and she sunk her head over her lap, the tears not stopping.

_Not again…_


	3. Don't close your eyes

_**A/N**: This chapter is loooong and unbeta-d, so please if there are any mistakes, do let me know! I am so proud of this chapter and I really hope you all like it. James was really interesting for me to write, just because I'm so used to writing this story from Emma's POV. It was important that I did it from his view though, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it :) I've grown really attached to this story if you couldn't tell hah. I appreciate and love any reviews~ 3 xoxo Enjoy!_

* * *

After Emma's awkward pat on his shoulder, James gave an equally awkward smile and turned away, his hands slipping into his pockets. He heard her pause getting into her car and the realization hit him hard, and he felt his gut tighten. There were feelings there. They had only met less than what seemed appropriate for these sorts of stirrings to settle inside of him, but James knew that fondness when it overtook him, his heart beating and his stomach fluttering desperately. He smiled to himself and spun around, calling out her name. "Swan!" he shouted, and his feet took him faster than her words could come out.

James' hand was on her cold cheek and he pressed his lips against hers as she turned to him, and she gave a small gasp of surprise into his mouth before letting her arms fall limp at her sides. He coiled his fingers between her blond curls and pulled her in closer, breathing the air that she breathed. She was finally responding when there was a flash of bright light against James' closed eyelids, followed by images of ships, water, and a man with scaly skin. He was on a ship, and the crocodile skinned man was holding an object, red and bright and beating in his long fingers. James saw a woman with no face, but the black waves of her hair had a familiarity to it that he couldn't shake.

James pulled away, gasping for air. It was as if it had all left his lungs, sucked out into the sky. His head was spinning and his ears were ringing, and he looked up at Emma wide-eyed. She said his name, but it was only the muffled echo he heard. "Did you see that?" he coughed through heaving breaths, but he knew the answer to that question before he asked.

"See what?" Emma snapped, and James heard the unsteadiness in her voice.

What _did_ he see? It had all happened so fast, and he attempted to recall everything that was there – he needed to remember. "There was a ship…" he began, running through the images in his head again. "Water… a man dressed in crocodile skins."

The panic that washed over Emma's face made his stomach turn. She took several steps away from him as he staggered towards her, his brows knotting together in concern. "No, not again…" she uttered, and he strained his ears to hear her.

"Not again what?" He tried to keep his voice calm and steady, but his entire body shook in fear. Fear of what this might mean, and what it was Emma was mumbling about. If she would merely tell him, he could perhaps help her, and maybe it would provide him with the answers to his concerns as well. "The bloody hell is going on, Swan?"

Her fingers were on her car door now, and she swung it open, creating a barrier of sorts between them. James stood rooted to the ground, his eyes coming in and out of focus as the images tried to resurface again. They were so vivid and clear that they felt more like memories, but there was no realism about them; not enough that it could have been rational in this world or lifetime. He was a coffee shop owner, not a pirate captaining a ship. Every blink brought the sea back to him, like it was fastened to the insides of his lids for him to see when he closed his eyes.

"You have to stay away," Emma ordered, holding up a hand at James, trying to tell him to stop moving. It didn't reassure him at all, and he stared with bewilderment as Emma climbed into her car. He spotted the glistening tears building up in her eyes before they disappeared behind the golden locks that dangled in front of her face. The curls that he grew to admire so much; they were hiding the hurt that he had caused. He wanted to tell her _I'm sorry_, but the words wouldn't come.

"Emma, what–" he managed before she shut the door. She took off without another word, and the light screech of her tires as she slammed her foot on the gas echoed, and she took off into the darkness. He watched her yellow bug disappear, until all he could see were her lights, like little fireflies, before they vanished behind the corner. All he did was stand still in that very spot, his arms paralyzed at his sides and his feet carrying him nowhere, his body hoping and waiting for her to reappear again. So that he could take her in his arms and tell her everything he had wanted to that night but could never find the right amount of courage to do so.

When he was sure that she wouldn't return, he turned and meandered away slowly, his hands slipping back into his pockets to shield them from the chill of the night. He bit down on his bottom lip as he passed the shrubs and bushes that lined the block to his home, a quaint and small house at the edge of town, in a quiet residential area that not many people bothered to venture to. The walk home felt much lonelier tonight, more than it had ever been – that much hadn't changed for as long as James could remember, though he didn't remember much. Since meeting Emma, he had tried to recall when he had opened his shop, when he lost his hand, or when he had voted Regina in for mayor – he must have had a few shots of rum _that_ night. The memories that swirled about in his head were hazy at best, and it only made his headache grow when he thought of them.

Now, there was something far more confusing to occupy his wandering mind.

His keys jingled as he shoved them into the lock of his door and he turned it with a click, cracking it open. He flicked on a light to combat the darkness that awaited him inside, and it was bright and burning against his eyes. James threw the door shut behind him and leaned his back against it, his legs finally craving to give in to the immense weight above them. His shoulders and arms felt heavy, and his temple throbbed in an unwarranted pain. He wanted to scream into his hands, to shake off the images of the sea and the ships from his vision, but they appeared every second he closed his eyes. _It was just a kiss_, he thought to himself angrily, and there was a twinge of regret in his chest.

Instead of shouting, he raised his arm and with a good swing, threw his keys across the room. The metal hit a mirror hanging above a table on the opposite wall, cracking it. James approached it, stifling the groans that wanted to come out, and he stared into it, his reflection a broken image of himself glaring back at him with glazed eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled down the broken mirror after studying himself for a while. Pieces fell to the floor at his feet and he stepped over them, crossing the living area to the couch. He allowed himself to fall and he slumped onto the leather sofa.

"The bloody hell is happening to me?" James muttered under his breath, and he buried his face in his hand. He wiped the sweat that dripped at his brow and moaned in frustration as he saw the ship again, the picture burnt into his mind, and he couldn't get it out. One kiss, and suddenly things begin changing within him and around him. Everything about his home that was once comfortable was no longer – he had to shift on the sofa several times before finding a position that was relatively bearable – and the dim light from the lamps made his eyes ache.

James sat against the back of the couch and rested his head. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a while; if he let the images sink in, they would finally disappear. All he saw was black for a moment before it appeared in front of him again – this time, it was the crocodile skin-clad man with his long and wavy hair, and he had a sword in his hand. And then _clang_! James could see the entire scene unfold below him, and he was watching from above, his presence unknown to the two dueling men on the ground. They were fighting furiously, their swords crashing together. Both were clearly skilled swordsmen, but the crocodile seemed to have the upper hand. He gazed closely at the other man, trying to get a decent view of his face, but he wasn't able to. No matter which way they spun, his face always remained hidden. All James could see was that his hair was as black as the long leather coat he wore over a red vest. His ringed fingers were coiled around the sword and he swung with such desperation, his cries and groans echoing off of the walls in the courtyard.

The crocodile gave the pirate a good punch in the face and he fell to the floor, landing hard on his hands and knees, and James awoke again with a jolt, and there were dribbles of sweat on his cheeks again. Confused, he climbed to his feet and inhaled a deep sigh, and the air felt more musky than usual. Perhaps it was time for bed, but he condemned the thought of having to go through that again – to see the memories of a man he didn't know. This _wasn't_ him, and he couldn't grow to believe it. Sleeping it off may help, and it might be about time to pay Dr. Hopper a visit in the morning. He would find no benefit from working under these sorts of conditions anyway.

_Just go to sleep James._ That is what he would do.

It took him a while to get undressed; his arms felt far too heavy to lift high above his head, but he still somehow managed to slip out of his shirt anyway. The cold air of his bedroom hit his chest in one wave, the wind through the window a welcome relief of the heat that had taken residence in him all evening. James breathed out, releasing all of the air in his lungs before falling back onto his bed, his bare back hitting the cool covers with a thump, and he immediately felt himself sinking in and drifting away. He wanted to sleep, but his eyes were afraid to close, fearful of what was awaiting him in the darkness of his dreams.

James allowed the tiredness to wash over him, every muscle in his body unwinding into the sheets and pillows. "Goodnight, world…" he whispered, and at last, the universe faded to black.

"Killian, what do you think?" She spun around, her hair falling over her shoulders as she held out the red vest in front of her chest. She was beaming from ear to ear as she swayed back and forth.

The man at the table laughed with her. "I think it suits you well enough, love," he assured her, leaning back in his chair. "I told you that it would, and you agree, wouldn't you say?" He was wearing the same red vest and black coat that fell lazily to the floor, but his face was a mere shadow in the light flickering from the lantern, and any time he was close to emerging from the darkness, he would fall back in. There was a silver hook on his left hand, and it glistened when he turned it on the table. "Try on that coat, Milah."

_Milah_. She lay the red vest down carefully on the bed and plucked the long black coat from it, similar to the one this _Killian_ wore and threw it over her shoulders. It _whooshed _behind her and then fell. The coat extended down to her ankles in the back, with large silver buttons sewn on it, and they shone in the yellow light. "I love it," she said breathlessly, examining herself in front of the mirror. Milah twirled several times, her arms extended out on both sides of her, and there was a new found freedom written all throughout her face.

Suddenly, the room froze and the mirrors bled, and black blood seeped from their cracks. In the middle of the scene, the crocodile man stood with a red beating heart in his hands, and it was glowing with fervor. Fear inhabited the room and a chill fell over James, as he, once again from above, watched – paralyzed and unable to shout down to them. Milah was gasping for air now as the crocodile crushed what could only be her heart, while the pirate sat still. _Bloody do something, you halfwit_, he raged to himself inside, waiting for the man to jump up to the woman's aid.

There was an eerie laugh that reverberated throughout the room, and suddenly, Milah fell to the ground, her body lifeless. When James glanced back at the crocodile, the heart that was once beating in his fingers had turned to sand, and it was blowing in the absent wind, covering the floor of the cabin. Then, like a movie, it all faded away and the last thing James saw before he awoke to the sun peering through his curtains was endless darkness.

He rolled over onto his side, the sheets sticking to his moist back and he squinted at the time blinking on the clock next to his bed. _7:32 AM_. It was still much too early for a visit to Archie's – the man wouldn't even be on his way yet. James hoisted himself upright and pushed back the hair from his eyes. His forehead was clammy from the sweat as well. A cold shower would fix that problem.

After showering and shaving, he got dressed, pulling a plain sweater over an even plainer white t-shirt – the clouds looked like they were rolling in again. It was the season for storms in Maine, and they needed to be prepared for rain or shine. He left the house after several moments of deliberation, uncertain if talking to Archie was his best plan of action. If perhaps there was someone better to discuss matters with rather than the shrink who would likely tell him that they were only dreams, and perhaps even hallucinations. Other than Dr. Hopper, there was only one other person in this town who might have the imagination to grasp the images better than anyone. These dreams were so vivid that they felt more like memories, but James had to continuously remind himself of how farfetched it all sounded. Nevertheless, he made the decision and had a quick change of plan.

Instead of turning and making his way to Archie's office, he instead turned for the school. He was bound to find him wandering outside – the kid hadn't many friends, James noted, and he felt that pang in his chest. He cranked up the volume notch of his car and listened to the weather report. _"We're looking at more rain over the next few days as the clouds start to roll in. They'll be hanging around for a while so get those umbrellas of yours and maybe even your best pair of rain boo-"_ He had heard enough of that, and switched it off with a sigh, but the news of more storms didn't leave him surprised.

There were only a handful of kids in the school yard when he pulled up across the street. He watched around for the boy, but couldn't spot him anywhere. He did, however, find someone he wasn't expecting to see so early – Henry's teacher and Emma's roommate, Miss Blanchard. James swung his car door open and crossed the deserted road. "Miss Blanchard!" he shouted, and he successfully caught her attention. She turned, startled, a pile of books held securely in her arms. It wasn't until he stopped in front of her that he realized the trepidation of their meeting – the likelihood that Emma had told her everything hadn't come up, and his cringe was immediate. He managed to keep most of his composure as she approached him.

"Oh, hi James," she said, clearly confounded by his sudden appearance. "What are you doing here so early?"

James motioned to her books and beckoned them towards him with his finger, and she hesitated for a moment before throwing them into his arms with a breathy 'thank you'. His knees buckled beneath the weight – they were heavier than he had expected. "I'm looking for someone," he finally admitted as they began their mindless walk to the building. "The mayor's boy." He gave her a nervous smile, praying to himself that she didn't think it was odd for him to be searching for Henry at the school.

"Henry?" Miss Blanchard asked, her face perking up. She didn't seem suspicious, much to James' relief, and he nodded, rebalancing the books under his chin.

"Aye, that lad," he grumbled, trying to catch the book that fell from the top of the pile before it slammed against the ground. Blanchard caught it with surprising skill and swung it under her arm. "Have you seen him?"

Blanchard nodded and pointed past James' shoulder. He caught a glimpse over his shoulder of a brown-haired boy sitting alone, stooped over his storybook that sat snugly on his lap. He was reading it; his face wrinkled with concentration like any young child's would be with a book that size. James could see him mouthing the words while his dark eyes scanned the page. "He always comes really early."

"I'll bring these books up to your class in a moment, Miss Blanchard," he assured her after quickly rearranging his thoughts. He must have broken the daze she had fallen into, because she jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Please, just call me Mary Margaret."

He exchanged a smile with her, James' mouth twitching upwards around the books as she stalked off, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. As she disappeared behind the large glass doors, he could finally let out a sigh of relief. Emma hadn't told Mary Margaret yet – that or she was very good at pretending there was nothing wrong with the situation in front of her. He had hoped that it _wasn't_ the latter, and that Emma was perhaps uncomfortable with discussing the events the prior night, or she hadn't found the chance to tell her. Either way, James was solaced by the fact that the teacher didn't make their meeting as awkward as it could have been.

James dropped the books down onto the bench beside Henry, who looked up from his book, startled. "Oh, hi James!" he said, more surprised to see him with his teacher's supplies than much else. "What are you doing here?"

He took a seat on the other side of the boy and turned to him, not wanting to waste any time they had before the bell rang. "I need you to tell me everything _you_ know about this curse and that storybook of yours," he said calmly, and he watched Henry's face light up, the smile that had already appeared on his face growing wider. The excitement that someone might believe was as clear as the glint in his eyes.

"Why the sudden interest?" he asked. Henry closed the book carefully and gave the hardcover a good pat before crossing his hands over it, almost as if he was protecting the contents inside from prying and unwanted glimpses. "No one ever believes me."

_Perhaps now someone will._ "I had a dream last night," James began; trying to word his sentences carefully and in a way that would make all of this seem less crazy. "After I kissed Emma, there were–"

Henry's jaw dropped and he interrupted James, sputtering. "_You_ kissed my mom, too?" he spat, somehow affronted by the idea of his mother's lips touching James'.

"Too?" James shot the boy a look of disbelief. He hadn't known someone else had kissed her, and he wondered who it might have been. Likely the sheriff, but he was not in a place to jump to such conclusions, and so quickly. "Why, who else was kiss – you know what, that doesn't matter." He paused to watch the shifting on Henry's face. "I wanted to figure out what those dreams mean, and _why_ I'm having them, and I need your help, lad."

Henry gave his book a few good taps, knocking on the cover loudly with his knuckles. "You're not in here." James opened his mouth to retort, but before he could form the words, Henry continued. "There are a few things that I can tell you from what I figured out, though; from other stories."

That was slightly relieving, James thought to himself. He was worried that he had ventured here for nothing and would have to make an awkward exit. As if running into Mary Margaret wasn't enough, he didn't need more situations that made him feel uncomfortable about asking such unusual questions. "Anything about ships, or perhaps a hook?" He knew the answer to his question before he had even asked, but it was the best place to start – open with the simpler matters. He was _Captain Hook_, after all. There would surely be some information pertaining to the visions of the sea he dreamt of.

"Do you want to know _everything_?" Henry asked, and he pursed his lips together in uncertainty, and James shifted uneasily in his seat.

_Everything_. He said it in such a serious manner that James almost regretted asking. What did that even imply? The word held such a heavy meaning – was he even ready for the knowledge the young boy had? He stared at Henry with a frown, carefully contemplating his answer, and whether he really did want the details, good and bad. From what he heard through Emma during their last meeting, there were some things that he preferred to leave the box closed on. "Yes," James answered slowly. "Everything there is to know."

Henry turned on the bench so that he was facing James. "What did you dream about?"

Counselled by an eleven year old – as if James' life could get much more interesting. "There was a woman, and she was aboard a ship with a man – who had a hook for a hand – and everything was going fair until…" He had to stop to take in a breath, pushing the nervousness away. The eerie dream that haunted him last night felt more than a dream. Everything about it was vivid and real, and that's what scared him the most. "There was a man with a heart in his hands, and he _crushed_ it."

Henry's brows laced together ever so subtly, but James could see him thinking about this. "What did the man look like?" he asked. He threw the book open and feverishly flipped through the pages, searching for something.

"He looked… much like a crocodile." James watched him turn the pages in frenzy. It seemed that Henry knew what he was looking for, it was only a matter of finding it first. When he stopped, the illustration displayed on the page made James' stomach turn over several times. "That's him!" James jabbed a finger at the book and his jaw loosened, but he was unable to form much more than that. That was the man in his dreams, the one who crushed the woman's heart – _Milah's_ heart – in all of the visions he had so far. There was no mistaking the scaly skin or the elaborate leather apparel.

"Rumplestiltskin," Henry told him nonchalantly, not giving much acknowledgement to the panic on James' face. "His wife died."

Upon closer inspection of the pictures, the familiarity in the face was much stronger now. In his dream, the man's face was mostly a blur, and he could barely make out his features; he reminded James of someone, and putting his finger on who was troubling. "Did he venture to Storybrooke as well with the curse?"

There were a few moments of quiet between them, the only noise coming from the birds singing their usual morning melodies. Henry hummed faintly to himself, consumed in deep thought, and he looked up at James with doubt. He understood the boy's concerns; if these dreams meant _anything_, it might put Henry, James, and this Rumplestiltskin character at risk, as strange as it was to say. James shuffled closer to Henry and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze. "It's alright, lad," he said with a smile. "You don't have to trust me; I understand why you may find this information worrisome, but no harm will come to anyone. I _promise_."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Henry said sternly before grinning wider. It seemed to get through to him because immediately, he went on to explain the story of Captain Hook and Rumplestiltskin, most of it being what he had already heard from Emma. Henry was much more knowledgeable of the subject, telling this carefully woven tale with a certain vigour and enthusiasm that James hadn't seen in the sheriff.

"I _think_ Rumplestiltskin is Mr. Gold…" Henry pondered, and James nodded – it was just like Emma had said. "He was the one who took your hand a long time ago."

_Because the pawnbroker with a limp is capable of such heinous crimes_, James mused to himself. "So this is why I am lacking a left hand?" he restated, trying his best to grasp what the lad was telling him, and Henry responded with a nod.

"And where is this fabled hook of mine?" James had several ideas of where it could be, based on the information he'd gathered. "How did the curse happen?" After all of this, he still hadn't gotten the answers to those questions. After all of the discussions, he hadn't the slightest clue of how they had landed in Storybrooke. The lack of memories and the _I don't remember_s were beginning to make sense to him, as implausible as the entire situation was. He could conjure no other explanation other than sheer fabrication of memories, like magic.

It was then when Henry nudged the book into James' hands, and he felt the weight of it on his arms. The hardcover was heavy, and the many thick pages only added to its density. "What are you giving me this for, lad? This is your book…" James fumbled, confused.

"Everything you need to know about the curse and Emma are in there," he pointed out, but then his tone suddenly shifted, and he was cautious. "Just whatever you do, _don't_ let my mom find it."

If by his mother, Henry meant Regina, there would be no worries about her discovering the book. The mayor paid no mind to the barista and his quiet coffee shop at the edge of town; he minded his business and she kept to hers. There was only the one time she had paid him a visit that he could only barely recall, and that was when he had first opened his shop. He couldn't remember even voting her in for mayor, or if he even bothered – he wasn't fond of the woman. What year was that? "You have nothing to fear," James reassured him again. "Your mother never stops by my shop, she is not about to begin. She hasn't a reason to."

"Just promise that you won't let her get it," Henry begged. "If she does, bad things will happen."

James nodded stiffly, not letting his mid run away with that. He glanced up at the library clock looming over the town. "It's about time you got to class," he mentioned to Henry, and he ruffled his fingers in his brown hair. "I've got to take these up to Miss Blanchard before I go." He got to his feet, shortly followed by Henry, who took half of the pile into his arms.

"I'll help you."

James followed Henry up the stairs and through the main doors into the school. The halls were almost deserted, save for the few children who had arrived early, and the teachers mingling amongst themselves with hushed voices. Many of them stopped to give James a wave and a giggle, to which he responded mostly with quick and awkward nods.

Henry shot several snickers over his shoulder at him, and when James had managed a long '_Whaaat?_' that Henry burst into giggles. "It's like all the girls in this town know who you are," he teased, and James glowered. "They all wave and giggle like the girls in my class do."

_Don't make this anymore awkward than it already is…_ "Is this your room?" They had come to a stop in front of a door lined with what looked to be paper flowers, and the desks inside were aligned perfectly. He spotted the dark-haired teacher at the front, her head bowed low over the files on her desk. She looked to be hastily marking homework, and James knocked softly on the door. She finished scribbling what she had started before glancing through her lashes, and jumped to her feet, promptly crossing the room to them.

"Here Henry, I'll take those from you," she said, and Miss Blancha – Mary Margaret took the books into her own arms with some minor readjustments. "Why don't you go return those library books that are long overdue?" She scurried him out the door, and James noticed her eyes flitting down to the large brown storybook tucked under his elbow.

James propped the books on the nearest desk and held out the titled _Once Upon A Time_ across his hands. "Where did the boy get this? It's beautifully bound and the illustrations are…" He paused as his breath hitched in his throat, recalling the one page with the man he recognized all too well. James blinked at Mary Margaret as she reached out and ran her fingers delicately over its cover.

"I was the one who gave it to him," she said, but she seemed almost sad, much to James' dismay and… well, he didn't do well with upset women. That much was proven the previous night. "I felt like he needed something – a _reminder_ – that everyone can find their happy ending." She smiled to herself, and it was almost as if she was elsewhere, her eyes glazed over and she paid James no heed. "Some paths are just much harder than others."

It was his voice that brought her back to him, because she shook her head, surprised, when he spoke up again. "There's a lot about this curse he's been on about in here," he mentioned, and the concern managed to slip its way through the cracks in his voice. It was silent between them for a few quick seconds before Mary Margaret nodded, fiddling with the ring on her finger. "Who does he think you are?"

Mary Margaret laughed, breathy and nervously. She clearly sensed the seriousness of his question because he spotted her shifting uncomfortably on the balls of her feet, pressing her palms together as she inhaled deep. "Oh, it's _silly_," she protested, waving him off.

"Whoever it is he believes you to be," he began to console her. "It's certainly not a swashbuckler who's resided in Neverland with a revenge festering inside of him for hundreds of years." That managed to extract another, calmer laugh from her.

"Snow White," Mary Margaret answered without much hesitation. She rocked back and forth, her skirt swaying at her knees.

James gave the book a good tap with his knuckles and winked at her. "I'm about to discover some interesting facts about you as well then, love." He bid her a farewell with a lingering smile and turned to the door, but he was stopped by her call to him.

"If you're going to see Emma," she began slowly, and her brows knit together with worry. She was fidgeting with the ring again. "Please take care of her."

So Emma did tell Mary Margaret – or else how did she know that they had even met with each other again? If Mary Margaret did know of the kiss that had taken place the previous night, then she did a mighty fine job of hiding it from him, and he was uncertain if he was feeling grateful or angry with her. Nevertheless, he smiled at her and made for the door again, leaving the teacher standing alone in her classroom with the books in her arms.

xxxxx

James took a bench on the dock where the air was cooler than usual. He felt calmed by the water – it was the sound of the waves and the mist that occasionally hit his face, and he preferred it out here. It was quieter and most of the townsfolk never bothered to venture to the harbour on days like these. He sat with the book laid across his lap, but hesitated – scared of what he might find inside. Henry had told him that there was very little information pertaining to Captain Hook, but the beginnings of the curse were written in the pages of this very book. If James were to find out what all of this meant, he would need to follow along with the facts of the curse itself.

_Not that it was real, of course_; just humouring his curiosity.

He flipped open to the first page to the illustration of a castle, high above the rocks and water. The second and third and the rest after told the story of the prince and princess of that kingdom, loved by many, and about the evil queen who had wanted to destroy their happy ending – he hadn't the slightest idea why. They all looked awfully familiar to him, but it could have been a simple coincidence. As he continued to read, his eyes scanning the pages thoroughly as if searching for a particular answer – signs of the pirate captain – and he landed on the final pages. Their child who had been sent through a portal, to come and rescue them and break the curse twenty-eight years later. When he stared closer at the blanket wrapped securely around the baby, sew into it in purple thread was her name – Emma. She brought it with her through the enchanted wardrobe, and where she ended up, only the ends of that tale knew.

It could have only been an accident that it had ended up like this. A fluke that her name was Emma, and that she arrived on her twenty-eighth birthday, and things in the town had begun to spin out of control. Somehow, Graham had died and a stranger rolled in on his motorbike, only to suddenly disappear as well. A coincidence that the moment he had kissed Emma, he felt as if his only life had taken a sudden turn. Every moment that his eyes were closed, he could see scenes unfolding before him that he had never seen before, all because _he_ kissed _her_. There was something about the sheriff that drew him to her – maybe it was her _dazzling_ personality, or the way her blond curls fell over her shoulders, or how brightly she smiled when he agreed to be a part of Operation Cobra, all for Henry's sake. He couldn't help but want more.

He pushed those thoughts out of his head and proceeded to close the book. It was clear that Emma hadn't wanted to see him after last night. He needed to respect her wishes, despite how much he wanted to see her – to tell her that he was sorry, and hold her until all of her tears had run dry, but he couldn't. All he could do was return to his coffee shop, and wait until she was ready, if she would ever be. It would be Emma who would pay him the first visit, and James would be there waiting for her. He had been sitting for longer than he anticipated, and when he got to his feet and allowed himself a decent stretch, extending his arms behind his back before plucking the book from the bench and turning back to his car.

It was then when he felt a body collide against his, and the book fell open on the ground. "I am so terribly sorry," James sputtered, fumbling to snatch up the storybook. When he safely tucked it beneath his arm, he looked up to find the mayor standing over him, her lips pursed together sternly. "Regina…" was all he managed.

"It's Madam mayor," she reminded him stiffly, and James narrowed his eyes back at her. "What are you doing all the way out here? Don't you have a coffee shop to run?" The smile on her red lips made James' stomach churn uncomfortably. There was something else behind it that reminded him of why he never liked her.

"I was just heading their now," he said, straightening his back. He held the book together, remembering Henry's only conditions – the one woman who was not supposed to find out was standing in front of him, obstructing the path to his car. "If you'll excuse me, _Madam Mayor_." He made to push past her, but she stopped him with a leather-gloved hand on his chest, and he saw her eyes dart to the book he was attempting to conceal.

Regina jabbed a finger in the direction of the book, and she bent across him to stare over his shoulder, the displeasure distinct on her face. "Where did you get that?"

_Where I obtained this is none of your concern_, he had wanted to snap back. James stood his ground against her, not once dismantling his strong composure. They stared one another down for a long time sternly, neither of them yielding beneath the heaviness of the air. "Your lad asked me to hold onto it for him for the time being," he answered sharply. James immediately backed away from her as she reached to snatch it from his arms, and Regina recoiled. He sensed the anger that emanated from her now, and it only made him step away further.

"Need I remind you that Henry is _my_ son, and that is his book, so I can take that out of your hands."

He had finally managed to sidle past her to his car, and he unlocked the door before saying another word to the mayor, throwing the book into the back seat. "You needn't remind me of such things, Madam Mayor," James mocked. "I've been in the mood for a good read for quite some time. Perhaps this will provide me with inspiration." James rolled his eyes at her and opened he driver's door, pausing to hear her retort.

"I hope you haven't forgotten who runs this town, Mr. Peters."

_Are you supposed to be implying something with that statement?_ James puckered his lips together, stifling those words from falling off of his tongue. "I am very well aware of who has the upper-hand."

"Well…" she uttered softly with a self-satisfied grin, seemingly unaffected by his sudden attitude. "Then I do hope you find what you're looking for." Regina spun on her heel and stalked away briskly, her heels clacking noisily against the cement.

He climbed into his car and watched Regina leave the docks. It seemed that she had no business wandering there, only to ask him about how he had procured the storybook from her son. It was odd that he'd run into her, to say the least. When she had disappeared from his sight, he drove off, but not in the direction of his café. There was somewhere else James had wanted to be before returning, and his curiosity was not going to give in until he found what he was looking for, if he could even be sure what it was he was searching for anymore.

_Answers_. He wanted answers. He was searching for something that would explain the dream, or why it played over so clear in his head, or who Milah was. The only other place in this town that James imagined he might find a solution or hint was Gold's shop. As much as he dreaded seeing the man in passing on the streets, venturing into his shop was not in his usual daily routine, but James had to make an exception if he was going to pry these images from his head and put them away to rest forever.

The town was fairly small in size, so it didn't take him long to come to a halt in front of the pawnbroker's shop. It was dark and dreary, James could see through the windows, but he spotted the hint of a light flickering behind the blinds. Gold almost never left his shop unattended, and if he did, the door would most certainly be locked tight. Slowly, James crossed the street and reached his hand out for the door, giving it a careful turn. _Unlocked_. The door creaked as he opened it slowly, poking his head inside and looking for a sign of Gold, but the man was nowhere to be found. James shut the door as quietly as he could behind him and stepped into the dim shop, glancing around at the trinkets that littered the shelves.

There were many things that he could immediately spot that looked like they could have belonged in one of the fairy tales he had learned. There were lamps that a genie could have resided in, sculptures that might have been made centuries ago, mobiles dangling from the ceiling – anything he could have dreamed of and more. He moved on to the glass cases near the back of the store, and that was where he found what he was looking for. An entire section dedicated to ships, anchors, and knotted ropes. Sitting on top of the shelf was a scale model of a pirate ship, painted brown and blue and yellow.

James crouched and stared past his reflection through the glass, getting a better look at what sat behind it. He spotted pieces of a ship – old and tattered pieces of fabric, rope, and then something silver caught his eye. A metal hook was perched atop a fabric scarf of sorts, and it glistened in the light. James' eyes darted between his left hand and the hook, and for a moment – just a moment – he wondered if that's where it had truly belonged; if, in some other life, he really did have a hook for a hand.

"Can I help you with anything, Mr. Peters?"

James jumped at the sound of the cold, drawling voice that came from the other side of the counter. When he got to his feet, his heart pounding loudly in his ears, he came face to face with Mr. Gold, who seemed just as displeased to see James. "Oh, I was just taking a look around," he sputtered, awkwardly scratching the itch at the back of his neck.

Gold nodded, and the smile on his face reminded James very much of the one Regina had on during their encounter. "I see you've taken a keen interest in my collection of ships," Gold pointed out, and he gave the case a tap with his cane.

"A curious interest, more like," James corrected him, and he forced a grin that Gold was _not_ falling for.

The shop owner was stepping out around the counter now, teetering on his limp as the cane thumped against the wooden floors. He stopped just short of James and leaned on the counter next to the ship, and he admired it before waggling a finger at him. "This ship is rumoured to contain magic," he began, as if James cared much for what the man had to say. "Legend says that the Jolly Roger is made of enchanted wood."

James cocked an eyebrow at Gold. "_Legend_ says…" he emphasized, trying to make a point. He couldn't explain why, but being in the presence of this man kept him on edge. He didn't trust Gold, and every movement he made closer to James was an excuse to inch closer to the door. There was something very commanding about Gold, but James could easily challenge it. "What makes you say this?"

Gold shrugged, his mouth turning down into an apathetic frown. "None of the items in this case are for sale."

James blinked up at him, but Gold didn't budge under his icy glower. "I'm not interested in purchasing from our shop." He watched their reflections move in the silver hook behind the glass, and James shifted onto his other foot. "I've never been in here and I thought I might take a look around before I headed back." He knocked his knuckles against the countertop and awkwardly made to leave. He paused to examine one of the mobiles that hung from the ceiling, spinning it delicately with his fingers. The glass chimed together gently as it spun, catching the light from the lanterns. The mobile felt familiar, too… like something else he had seen in the book. He would have to take a closer look again when he arrived home later that night.

When James reached the door, there was a shake of hesitation as his fingers wrapped around the doorknob, ready to turn it. Gold's voice called out to him and he stopped in his tracks, hearing the coldness return in the man's voice.

"Mr. Peters," he said calmly, and James listened over his shoulder. "Don't ever come back into my shop again."

_Ouch_. "I hadn't planned to," James admitted with a sarcastic smile. "You enjoy your week, Mr. Gold." The door opened with a click again and the little bell jingled as he stepped outside. What was it with the sudden tension in the townsfolk this morning? Both Regina and Gold were agitated and high-strung… as if that was different from any other time he had had the misfortune of encountering either of them.

It wasn't even nine o'clock and already, his day had taken more unexpected turns than he would have liked. _How many more before I can get back to my shop?_

Earlier, he had considered making a stop at Granny's Diner just down the street for some breakfast – his stomach could use it after all of these odd meetings this morning, but he'd begun to wonder if it was truly the best idea. That was no way to live – living in the shadows of anxiety that he might run into someone else who may only ruin his morning. The solution to that problem was clear: _go anyway_. Her diner was within walking distance, down the block and around the corner. James slid his hands into his pockets and resolved to head there for a quick bite of breakfast. A simple bagel with cream cheese might do, or a few bites of Granny's pancakes would surely cheer him up.

He had arrived no more than five minutes later, and he entered the bustling diner, many of the residents picking up their morning coffee and breakfasts before their days began. Some turned and greeted him, but it was Ruby's eye he caught when he approached the countertop, and she shuffled over to him, pushing past Granny. "Morning, Ruby," he said drearily, but her smile was the brightest thing he had seen all morning.

"Will it be the usual for you?" she asked in her familiar perky voice. James shook his head and her jaw dropped ever so slightly in surprise. "Or are we changing things up this morning?"

James sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I think it's about time we do something different," he laughed. "I can go for some pancakes and a cup of coffee this morning."

Immediately, Ruby had started to prepare his drink and took his order to the back. The diner always smelled its best in the morning: a healthy mix of hashed browns, bacon, pancake batter, and the heavy aroma of coffee – one that he was all too accustomed to. "You seem kind of beat this morning," she said sadly, leaning over the counter with his steaming cup of coffee. "What's got you down, captain?"

His stomach wrenched at the word. _Captain_… if she had only understood the irony. It held a heavier meaning than it used to and he was sure he didn't like it. Regardless, he was not about to spill the curse beans to Ruby. "Just had a rough morning is all," he answered, and took a sip of his coffee. The warmth washed down his cold throat and he could feel the heat spreading to his cheeks.

Ruby smiled wide at him. "Well, you came to the right place." She went quiet for a moment, contemplating on how to word her next sentence, and James had a suspicion that he knew what was coming. "So I heard you had a date with the sheriff last night."

_Nailed it_. "Where did you hear that from?" Either Swan was going about the town explaining it to everyone, or he was not aware they were being spied on last night. How much more did the townsfolk know?

"Word travels around here quickly, you know," Ruby said in a sing-song voice; as if he was supposed to know these things. "A lot of ladies have their eyes on and hearts set out for you; you just choose not to see it."

"I'm not interested," he snapped through his coffee. "And it wasn't a date."

Ruby laughed between her breaths. "You're starting to sound just like her, you know." When James shot her a look of confusion, she explained. "Emma, I mean. You're starting to sound like Emma." She had made her own cup of coffee and brought it to the counter, and she was stirring it absentmindedly, her elbows propped on the counter. Granny was uttering words under her breath to Ruby about the customers in line, but the girl ignored them.

"No I'm not," James said adamantly, but it only made Ruby snicker more.

"The more you say _no_, the more you remind me of her."

He couldn't squelch his own chuckle – as much as he didn't want to admit it, what Ruby said was true. When he thought about it, she was always talking like that in their conversations. Always denying everything, always so sharp and ever the tight-lipped; even when he kissed her… James licked his lips thoughtfully ad took another gulp from his cup. "Can I ask you something?"

"One sec." Ruby held up a finger and departed, but returned only seconds later with his pancakes.

James inhaled deeply before continuing, wondering how he was going to word this. He'd always liked Ruby – she was easy to talk to and didn't enjoy discussing the latest gossip. He could trust her to tell him if there were townsfolk spreading falsities about him throughout the town, and that she wouldn't talk about what he'd said when he was gone. For the majority of his time he remembered being in Storybrooke, Ruby was his only good friend, and he was thankful to her for that. He picked up his utensils and shoved a large bite of pancake into his mouth. "If I kissed Emma–"

"You kissed Emma!?" she interrupted, her voice quiet beneath the buzzing of the diner. Her jaw dropped.

James glowered at her, his brows telling her _don't interrupt me_, and she calmed herself. Was it so surprising that he did? "If I kissed Emma – hypothetically – and she told me not to come near her, and drove off in tears, should I approach her about it?"

Ruby cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you really that bad of a kisser?" she snorted.

"Ruby, please."

"Sorry." She gave his hand a pat and rested her head on her hand, arching over the counter to get closer to him, preventing their conversation from being overheard. "I don't know… this is Emma we're talking about."

She had a point. Emma was as unpredictable as an oncoming storm over the sea – you never know how bad it's going to get until you find yourself in the middle of it. Or at least, that was the impression James had always taken.

"Except you really did kiss her, didn't you? This isn't a hypothetical question."

"Damn your bloody intuition." James chewed on another chunk of fluffy pancake before continuing. "So do you suppose I should leave her be until she's ready to talk to me?"

Ruby shrugged, going back to stirring her coffee, but never drinking it. "Well, if there was something that upset her about it, then maybe you should find out what it is so that you can fix it?" She chewed on her stirring stick contemplatively for a while, waiting for James to respond.

"She was really hurt, Ruby," he said, and James heard his own voice breaking. He bit down on his lips and looked up at the waitress, whose face brimmed with concern. "I broke the kiss."

"Why?" Ruby was genuinely confused now.

"I saw some things when I kissed her – images," James began, sounding crazy in his head. "They all just flashed before me and I didn't know what else I could do. There was a ship, and water. Lots of water."

"Don't you think that maybe you should tell her that?" Ruby put out thoughtfully, jabbing a finger at him. "I mean, if I were in that position, I would appreciate knowing what it was that happened, and maybe she'll feel like she can tell _you_ what's wrong. When she's ready."

Just as James nodded and stuffed more food into his mouth, the bell to the diner jingled and his gaze shot up to find blond curls and the familiar red leather jacket. Ruby nudged him hard in the arm the moment she saw Emma, who had immediately taken notice of his presence inside the diner. She had frozen at the door, her eyes wide with confusion. As if she was afraid that he'd seen her – which he most certainly had – she spun around and left as quickly as she'd entered.

"James," Ruby said, motioning her head in Emma's direction, and right away, he jumped from his seat. "Don't worry about the food, it's on me."

James thanked her quickly and ran out the door behind the sheriff, and he saw her crossing the street, her feet carrying her at an astounding pace. "Swan!" he shouted, jogging and dodging cars to catch up to her. "Swan!" She continued to neglect his calls, breaking into a light jog. _You are so ridiculous sometimes_. He felt the anger bubble up inside him, and then – "EMMA!"

That seemed to catch her attention, because she stopped and turned, aggravated. "What!?"

"The bloody hell is wrong with you?" He couldn't stop his voice from rising, and he could see the anger flaring up in her green eyes as well. "I call you and you just keep walking?"

Emma crossed her arms in front of her chest protectively. "I don't want to talk about any of it," she spat as if he had brought it up at all. "I just – I'm leaving. I have work I need to do."

James pointed a finger at the diner. "You didn't have work you needed to do when you walked in. What changed?" He tried to simmer the pain in his voice, but he could feel himself cracking under the pressure building up inside his chest. "You saw me, and you bloody left, that's what. Now, can we please be adults and discuss what happened, and why you decided the best course of action was to leave me on the side of the road with nothing to go off of?" Their voices had grown so loud that passers-by were watching them, but James was past the point of caring. All of the advice that Ruby had given him had flown out the window the moment Emma made the decision to ignore him. He was _not_ going to drop it – the dreams he had the previous night, the things that Henry said, what he found in Gold's shop – it was all making sense now, and he needed Emma to know.

"I don't want to talk about it," she enunciated through grinding teeth.

"Then I won't force you to," James surrendered, throwing his hands into the air. "But I want you to at least listen to what I have to say before you decide you don't want to have this discussion, because not talking about something won't take away from the fact that it has happened." He saw her face soften – it was subtle, but noticeable. "It still happened, Emma." Those last words fell off of his tongue quietly, and he wanted to cry out to her. She was bloody exhausting.

"Then talk," Emma snapped, stepping closer to him so that they could lower their voices. "If you have so much you want to say, then just say it."

_I've been trying_, he wanted to tell her. _I've been trying but you choose not to listen_. "Last night," he started breathlessly. "Last night when I kissed you, I saw things."

She sighed and spun on her heel away from him, but she didn't walk away. "Don't you dare," she uttered into the air. "Don't you dare." She turned again to face him, and she was pointing a stern finger, and he backed away from it.

"This is what I mean, Emma." James pushed her finger aside, away from his face. "When I try to talk to you about something, you deny me that opportunity. You did the very same thing last night." _Don't I dare what, Emma? Is there something you wish to say?_ He had never felt such fury with a woman in his life. There was something that she wanted to tell him, but she was restraining herself, perhaps out of the fear that he may judge her. There was nothing Emma needed to be afraid of, and yet, James could see it written in the wrinkles on her face.

"I don't want to know anything about what you saw," Emma said, walking away, but she paused, like she was waiting for him to follow, and so he did. "I don't care what you saw, that's _your_ business. I don't want to talk about the curse."

"Then tell me what it is you're so fearful of hearing," James begged, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around her shoulder, and she froze beneath his grasp. "I'm here to listen, Emma, and why you won't talk to me is bloody murder. I want to help."

She broke her eyes from his and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear – a nervous habit, he'd noticed. "I – I just…" _You just what?_ "The last time this happened, nothing about how it ended was good, or even normal."

It must have been Graham she was reminiscing about. He knew that she had developed feelings for the sheriff and he had passed, unfortunately. For what reasons, people still didn't know, but as far as James knew, he was the only other man she'd kissed in her time visiting Storybrooke. If James was a good judge of character as he liked to believe, a similar incident occurred with him.

"I don't want anyone else to get hurt," Emma went on, defeated. "I don't want to get hurt."

If this was what Mary Margaret meant when she insisted that James take care of her, he was more than prepared to do so. He had no intention of ever allowing harm to come to Emma or her family, and he was not going to let the mere idea of a curse stir these feelings inside of her. They hadn't known each other for long, but there was _something_ there. It was no longer about the curse or his dreams, but about Emma – about her fears and what she loved and didn't, and he wanted to give her the entire world, if she would simply let him. He wanted to be let in, but she wasn't ready.

"No one is going to get hurt, love. I promise." James' grip softened on her shoulder, but she didn't withdraw from under his hand. "I don't know what went on between you and Graham, and quite frankly, it's none of my business, but you need to try something new, darling. It's called _trust_." It was a lot to ask for, but out of many of the things she could have given him, this was what he longed for. "I wish to talk to you about what I did see last night; what it could possibly mean."

"What else is there to talk about?" There was the headstrong anger again, and she stiffened. "There's nothing else. I don't want to talk about the curse; I don't know what you saw or what it means, and I don't want to know."

James' frown magnified as he watched her expression grow fiercer, but he chose not to provoke it.

"I don't need more people telling me that I can't see anything because I don't want to believe." There were tears forming in the corners of her eyes, but she was blinking them back. _Just let them fall, love_. "I am _not _responsible for anything other than my own happiness, and my son's, and you are not responsible for taking care of me."

That hit him with a blow to the stomach. He didn't want to be responsible, but someone needed to at the very least take initiative to try to make her happy; someone needed to be there for her like no one else would ever be, and James wanted to be _that_ someone. "I'm not responsible, sure lass, but has the idea ever crossed your mind that perhaps people want to be?" James, to the best of his ability, tried to keep his voice down, but the frustration was stronger than his restraint, and it was rising again.

She stared at him, unable to conjure the proper words, and he watched her biting back the tears that wanted to fall. "What the hell," she finally said, and immediately wiped her eyes. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Who the hell do I think I am?" He had had just about enough. "I think I'm a man who genuinely wants to see you happy, but it's bloody _maddening_ that you refuse to allow anyone other than yourself to try and achieve such things."

"You barely know me!" Emma was yelling again, but they had turned into an alley behind the shops where no one passed. "You have met me, what, twice?"

Before she could say any more, he interrupted. "Yes, twice, Emma." James didn't need her to point it out to him – he knew.

"So why are you so adamant on me believing? Why do you want me to be happy?"

"Because perhaps it's about time you believed in something." A million thoughts were coursing through his head now. All of this time, her son had tried to convince her to believe in the curse, to help the town. Now, when they were finally once again closer to discovering something, she had shut the idea out. "Maybe you need to just _let go_ for once, and stop living your bloody life shutting out the entire world to protect yourself." His words were echoing off of the tall walls surrounding them. "You aren't protecting yourself from anything other than your own happiness, Emma."

"I'm protecting myself from getting hurt," she flared. "I didn't ask for any of this, James. I didn't ask for people to die, or to be responsible for anyone's happiness, or for anyone to be responsible for mine. I stayed for Henry, nothing else." Her voice was breaking again, just like it had the other night, and it brought a wave of pain through James' chest. He didn't want to see her like this, but maybe this was something that she needed to do. All of those feelings had been bottled in, and if she wanted to scream at him and hit him, he would let her. "I just wanted to be a part of my son's life, and you just so happened to get caught in the crossfires. I'm sorry."

She was sobbing softly now, trying to regain the control she had lost over her shaking hands. James gripped her arm and pulled her in, and she crashed against him. "Stop," he said quietly between his quick breaths. James felt her relax against him, and she buried his face in his chest, stifling her sobs in his sweater. "You need to stop this, love." _Before you get hurt_. His fingers ran through her curls while his other arm wrapped around her shoulders. If Emma could give him anything, it would be this – right now. It didn't matter that they were standing in an isolated alley, or that his dreams of ships dancing on the water still haunted him when he closed his eyes against the smell of her.

"I don't want anyone to get hurt," Emma repeated quietly.

"No one is going to get hurt, lass," James said again. He would tell her that as many times as she needed to hear it. So long as James was around, _no one_ was going to be harmed, and that was a vow he would keep. "You have my word."

"Don't make promises you can't keep..." Emma ordered, and all James could do was pull her in tighter, and that was enough for him.


End file.
